


Fall asleep in my arms

by Pyry



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I suppose, M/M, Nervous Stan, Stancest - Freeform, Twincest, Yet not Amnesiac Stan, but it's still about issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:17:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6227134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyry/pseuds/Pyry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories came back and it bothers Stan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall asleep in my arms

\---  
It’s the middle of the night and Stan sits in the kitchen sipping coffee – the remains of it, actually – and he reminds himself to store more of it when he will prepare for the Apocalypse again.  
He has sent kids to Wendy’s place – The Mystery Shack still needs a lot of repairs and they definitely can’t stay in the attic – it’s too dangerous.  
But Stan is not going to leave the Shack.  
Well, at least – not now.  
Memories are flooding him – he opens a fridge and remembers how and where he got it – it was about five years ago, right?  
Yeah. Five years ago, at a garage sale. Hell, he even paid for it. Twelve bucks. Or thirteen? Doesn’t matter.    
The Shack is all creaking sounds and whistles of the wind –  
but Stan suddenly feels comfortable.  
He is at home.  
  
But Stan’s not alone here.  
Ford also decided to stay –  
and, of course, he is in the basement now.    
It’s not like the basement still exists – it’s nothing but debris.  
But Ford went there anyway.  
Probably to see what happened to the portal.  
Stan thinks that if there was something good about Weirdmageddon – that’s it.  
Nothing’s left of that goddamn place.  
  
Stan takes his mug and goes around the house, looking, touching, listening -  
remembering.  
When he comes back to the kitchen, Ford stands near the table, nervously gripping his flask and – obviously - waiting for him.  
Stan raises eyebrows but says nothing.  
  
In fact, he doesn’t know what to say.  
As far as he _remembers_ , they still have lots of things they have to fix.  
Lots of things they have to talk about.  
Lots of things they have to tell each other.  
Oh God.  
Stan wishes it wouldn’t be so fucking difficult.  
But it can wait until tomorrow, can’t it?  
  
"You are really Mr. Mystery, you know?"  Ford chuckles uneasily. hiding the flask in his trench coat.   
_No, it can’t._  
 “Your memories have come back so fast –”  
“Didn’t expect that, Poindexter, did you?” Stan wearily asks, places the mug into the sink – almost throws it – and heads to the living room. His own bed was broken into pieces, so he has to take a nap in his armchair.  
It’s okay. He got used to it.  
What is not okay is that Ford stops him.  
Ford grabs his arm, gasps “Stanley!” –  
and suddenly Stan feels angry.  
“ _Stanley what?_ You know what I think about all this shit? Well, lemme tell you!”  
“Stan – “  
“ It all happened because I am a _monster_. Sewed from a bunch of personalities. How was it called? Ah. Frankenstein. I don’t even know where Stanley Pines is in all this mess! And if he is _still_ here.”  
There is a long pause before Ford starts to speak.  
"Actually, it's Frankenstein’s monster. He is unnamed. And Frankenstein is a young scientist who created it."  
Stan doesn't even throw another hissy fit about Ford being so..nerdy.  
After this unexpected burst of anger he feels tired.  
So goddamn tired.  
"Okay, then you can be Frankenstein, genius. Great idea for the next Summerween, by the way. Kids will like it." Stan suggests dryly, turning to the window and crossing his arms.  
It’s not like he is not happy having his memories back.  
But still..  
something bothers him.  
It’s just like his sacrifice didn’t mean anything.  
If _he_ doesn’t mean anything  - not for his family, at least - and at last -  
but to himself.

“As about your – hmmmm, let’s call it “identity crisis” – you may have worn many faces, but you still understood clearly who you were.  For example, you forgot the whole summer with kids. You even forgot Soos. And you weren’t Stanley Pines then. You were _Stanford_ Pines,” Ford says cautiously and touches his shoulder. Stan shoves his hand from it and turns to Ford, clenching his fists.  
“Of course I couldn’t identify myself with you, that’s why everybody called me Stan, dammit! Don’t you understand how I felt when you – ”  
“I understand.” It’s just a whisper but somehow it’s enough to make Stan stop.  
“What.”  
“I have to wipe out your mind by these very hands. Remember?” Ford smiles wryly.” I thought I have lost you in the worst way possible – you will be near yet far away.”  
And Stan feels his anger disappearing, vanishing into thin air – and suddenly he needs to be sure that Ford is really here, is still here -  
Ford returns a hug eagerly.  
  
They stand like that for a while, too afraid to let another go.

“A draw, then.” Stan mutters in the collar of Ford’s sweater.  
“I guess so.”

Silence falls again.  
Ford is carefully caressing Stan’s hair, when the younger twin raises his head from his shoulder and gives him a grave look.  
  
“What if Bill comes back? Just like my memories.”  
Ford shrugs, trying to look confident.  
“I don’t think it’s possible.”  
Stan bites his bottom lip.  
“If Bill returns and takes over my body..could you promise that you will destroy him? That you will destroy -”  
Ford raises an eyebrow.  
“Would you have promised to never open the portal again if I had asked you back then?”  
The very idea seems to revolt Stan.  
“Hell no!”  
“Well, my answer is the same as yours.”  
  
Stan doesn’t look contented with it.  
“But – “  
“You are Stanley Pines,” Ford inhales in his lips. “You are my twin. You are the one _I love_. And I definitely won’t allow this bastard to have you.”  
And Stan believes him.

\---

**Author's Note:**

> There's a possibility that I'll write more about it, but..dunno. Does it feel like something unfinished?


End file.
